Kitabı oku: «Camilla; or, A Picture of Youth», sayfa 69

Mrs. Berlinton had sunk upon a chair, her hands clasped upon her forehead, and tears running rapidly down her cheeks. Brought up with religious terrours, yet ill instructed in religious principles, the dread of future punishment nearly demolished her, though no regular creed of right kept her consistently or systematically in any uniform exercise of good. But thus forcibly surprised into sudden conscientious recollections, she betrayed, rather than opened her heart, and acknowledged that she was weeping at a denial she had given to Bellamy; who, molested by the impossibility of ever conversing with her undisturbed, had entreated her to grant him, from time to time, a few hours society, in a peaceful retirement. 'Nor should I – nor could I – ' she cried, 'refuse him – for I have every reliance in his honour – but that the guilty world, ignorant of the purity of our friendship, might causelessly alarm my brother for my fame. And this, and the fear of any – though so groundless – uneasiness to your sister, makes me resist his powerful eloquence, and even my own notions of what is due to our exalted league of friendship.'

Camilla listened with horrour to this avowal, yet saw, with compassion, that her friend endeavoured to persuade herself she was free from wrong; though with censure that she sought to gloss over, rather than investigate, every doubt to the contrary: but while fear was predominant for the event of such a situation to herself, abhorrence filled her whole mind against Bellamy, in every part, every plan, and every probability of the business.

'O Mrs. Berlinton!' she cried, 'conquer this terrible infatuation, which obscures danger from your sight, and right from your discernment! Mr. Bellamy is married; and if you think, yourself, my sister would be hurt to know of these unhallowed leagues and bonds, you must be sure, with the least reflection, that they are wrong; you too, are married; and if Mr. Melmond would join with the world in contemning the extraordinary project you mention, you must feel, with the least reflexion, it ought not to be granted. Even were you both single, it would be equally improper, though not so wide spreading in its mischief. I have committed many errours; yet not one of them wilfully, or against conviction: nevertheless, the ill consequences that have ensued, tear me at this moment with repentant sorrow: – Ah! think then, what you – so tender, so susceptible, so feeling, will suffer, if with your apprehensions all awake, you listen to any request that may make my sister unhappy, or involve your deserving brother in any difficulty or hazard!'

Mrs. Berlinton was now subdued. Touched, terrified, and convinced, she embraced Camilla, wept in her arms, and promised to see Bellamy no more.

The next day arrived an answer from Lavinia, long, minute, and melancholy, but tenderly affectionate and replete with pity.

'Ah, my sister,' she began, 'we cannot yet meet! Our Mother is in no state to bear any added emotion. The firmness of her whole character, the fortitude of her whole life, hitherto unbroken by any passion, and superior to any misfortune, have both given way, suddenly and dreadfully, to the scene following her arrival.'

She then went back to particulars.

Mr. Clykes, she had heard, finding his bill for his own trouble positively refused, had conceived the Tyrold family in danger of bankruptcy, by the general rumours of the joint claimants of Lionel and Clermont; and imagining he had no time to lose, hoped by an arrest to frighten their Father to terms, in order to obviate the disgrace of such a measure. Their Father would, however, hear of none, nor pay any thing above the exact amount of the signed receipts of the various creditors; and submitted to the confinement, in preference to applying to any friend to be his bail, till he could consult with a lawyer. He was already at Winchester, where he had given Clykes a meeting, when the writ was served against him. He sent a dispatch to Etherington, to prevent any surprise at his not returning, and to desire the affair might not travel to Cleves, where Lavinia was then with Sir Hugh. This note, addressed to the upper servant, fell into the hands of Mrs. Tyrold herself, the next evening, upon her sudden arrival. She had been thus unexpectedly brought back by the news of the flight of Bellamy with Eugenia: her brother was still ill; but every consideration gave way to the maternal; and in the hope to yet rescue her daughter from this violator, she set off in a packet which was just sailing. But what, upon descending from the chaise, was the horrour of her first news! She went on instantly to Winchester, and alighting at an hotel, took a guide and went to the place of confinement.

'The meeting that ensued,' continued Lavinia, 'no one witnessed, but everyone may imagine. I will not therefore, wound your feelings, my dearest Camilla, with even touching upon my own. The impression, however, left upon the mind of our poor Mother, I should try vainly to disguise, since it has given her a shock that has forced from me the opening of this letter.'

She then besought her to take, nevertheless, some comfort, since she had the unspeakable satisfaction to inform her that their Father was returned to the rectory. He had been liberated, from the writ's being withdrawn; though without his consent, without even his knowledge, and contrary to his wishes. Nor was it yet ascertained by whom this was done, though circumstances allowed no division to their conjectures.

Harry Westwyn had learnt the terrible event in a ride he had accidentally taken to Winchester; and, upon returning to Cleves, had communicated it, with the most feeling circumspection, to herself. The excess of grief with which she had heard him, had seemed to penetrate to his quickly sensitive soul, 'for he is yet more amiable,' she added, 'than his Father's partiality paints him;' they agreed not to name it to Sir Hugh; though Harry assured her that no less than five gentlemen in the vicinity had already flown to Mr. Tyrold, to conjure to be accepted as his bail: but he chose first to consult his lawyer upon the validity of the claim made against him. All their care, however, was ineffectual; through some of the servants, Sir Hugh was informed of the affair, and his affliction was despair. He accused himself as being the cause of this evil, from the money he had borrowed for Clermont, which might wholly have been avoided, had he followed his brother's advice in immediate and severe retrenchments. These, however, he now began, in a manner that threatened to rob him of every comfort; and Mr. Westwyn was so much affected by his distress, that, to relieve him, at least, from the expence of two guests and their servants, he instantly took leave, promising nevertheless, to yet see him again, before he returned for the rest of his days to his native home. In a few hours after the departure of these gentlemen, news arrived that Mr. Tyrold was again at the rectory. Mr. Clykes had suddenly sent his receipt, in full of all demands, and then set off for London.

'There cannot be a doubt this was the deed of the generous Mr. Westwyn, in compact with his deserving Son,' continued Lavinia; 'they have been traced to Winchester; but we none of us know where, at present, to direct to them. The delight of my Uncle at this act of his worthy old friend, has extremely revived him. My Father is much dissatisfied the wretched Clykes should thus be paid all his fraudulent claims; but my Mother and my Uncle would, I believe, scarce have supported life under his longer confinement.'

The letter thus concluded.

'My Mother, when first she heard you were in town, was herself going to send for you; but when she understood that Miss Margland was with you, and you lived in utter seclusion from company, she said; "Since she is safe, I had rather not yet see her." Our beloved Father acquiesces, for he thinks you, at present, too much shaken, as well as herself, for so agitating an interview, till her mind is restored to its usual firmness. Judge then, my sister, since even he is for the delay, if your Lavinia can gather courage to plead against it?

'You know, my dearest Camilla, her extreme and tender fondness; you cannot, therefore, doubt, but her displeasure will soon pass away. But when, to the dreadful pangs of finding the hapless fate of Eugenia irremediable, was added the baneful sight of an adored Husband in custody, you cannot wonder such complicate shocks should have disordered her frame, and taught her, – even her, as my imcomparable Father has just said to me, "that always to be superior to calamity, demands a mental strength beyond the frail texture of the human composition; though to wish, and to try for it, shews we have that within, which aspires at a higher state, and prepares us for fuller perfection".'

'Can I better finish my letter than with words such as these? Adieu, then, my dear sister, I hope soon to write more cheerful tidings.

'Our poor Mother is gone to Belfont. What a meeting again there!

Lavinia Tyrold.'

A wish for death, immediate death, in common with every youthful mourner, in the first paroxysm of violent sorrow, was the sole sensation which accompanied the reading, or remained after the finishing of this letter, with Camilla. 'Here,' she cried, falling prostrate, 'here might I but at once expire! close these unworthy eyes, forbidden to raise themselves to the authors of my existence! finish my short and culpable career, forgotten – since no longer cherished – by the parents I have offended – by the Mother who no longer wishes to see me!'

She laid down her head, and her sight became dim; a convulsive shivering, from feelings over-strained, and nerves dreadfully shattered, seized her; she sighed short and quick, and thought her prayer already accomplishing; but the delusion soon ceased; she found life still in its vigour, though bereft of its joy; and death no nearer to her frame, for being called upon by her wishes.

In the heaviness of disappointment, 'I have lived,' she cried, 'too long, and yet I cannot die! I am become an alien to my family, and a burthen to myself! ordered from my home by my Father, lest my sight should be destructive to my Mother – while my sister durst not even plead for me… O happy Edgar! how great has been thy escape not to have taken for thy wife this excommunicated wretch!' —

To live thus, seemed to her impossible; to pass even the day in such wretchedness she believed impracticable. Any, every period appeared to her preferable, and in the desperation of her heart, she determined instantly to pursue her Mother to Belfont; and there, by the gentle intercession of Eugenia, to obtain her pardon, or, which she thought immediately would follow its refusal, to sink to death at her feet.

Relieved from the intenseness of her agony by this plan, and ever eager to pursue the first idea that arose, she flew to borrow from Mrs. Berlinton her post-chaise for the next morning, and to supplicate that Miss Margland would accompany her to Belfont; whence, if she missed Mrs. Tyrold, they could easily return the same day, as the distance was not more than thirteen miles.

The chaise was accorded promptly by Mrs. Berlinton, and no regret expressed at the uncertainty of Camilla whether or not she should return; but Miss Margland, though burning with curiosity to see Eugenia as Mrs. Bellamy, would not quit town, from continual expectation of some news of Indiana.

At an early hour the following morning, and feeling as if suspended but by a thread between life and death, Camilla set off for Belfont.

CHAPTER VI
The Reverse of a Mask

The plan of Camilla was to stop within twenty yards of the house of Bellamy, and then send for Molly Mill. But till she gave this direction to the driver, she was not aware of the inconvenience of being without a servant, which had not previously occurred either to Mrs. Berlinton or herself. The man could not leave his horses, and she was compelled to let him draw up to the gate. There, when he rang at a bell, her terrour, lest she should suddenly encounter Mrs. Tyrold, made her bid him open the chaise door, that she might get out and walk on, before he enquired for Molly. But, in stepping from the carriage, she discerned, over a paling at some distance, Eugenia herself, alone, slowly walking, and her head turned another way.

Every personal, and even every filial idea, was buried instantly in this sight. The disastrous state of this beloved and unhappy sister, and her own peculiar knowledge of the worthless character of the wretch who had betrayed her into his snares, penetrated her with an anguish that took thought from all else; and darting through the great gate, and thence through a smaller one, which opened to the spot where she saw her walking, she flew to her in a speechless transport of sorrow, folded her in her arms, and sobbed upon her shoulder.

Starting, shaking, amazed, Eugenia looked at her; 'Good Heaven!' she exclaimed, 'is it my Sister? – Is it Camilla? – Do I, indeed, see one so dear to me?' And, too weak to sustain herself, she sunk, though not fainting, upon the turf.

Camilla could not articulate a syllable. The horrour she had conceived against Bellamy chilled all attempt at consolation, and her own misery which, the preceding moment, seemed to be crushing the springs of life, vanished in the agonized affection with which she felt the misfortunes of her sister.

Eugenia soon recovered, and rising, and holding her by the hand, yet seeming to refuse herself the emotion of returning her embraces, said, with a faint effort to smile; 'You have surprised me, indeed, my dear Camilla, and convicted me to myself of my vain philosophy. I had thought I should never more be moved thus again. But I see now, the affections are not so speedily to be all vanquished.'

The melancholy conveyed by this idea of believed apathy, in a young creature so innocent, and but just dawning into life, still beyond speech, and nearly beyond sufferance, affected Camilla, who hanging over her, sighed out: 'My dearest!.. dearest Eugenia!'

'And what is it has brought to me this unexpected, but loved sight? Does Mr. Bellamy know you are here?'

'No,' she answered, shuddering at his name.

Eugenia looked pensive, looked distressed; and casting down her eyes and hesitating, with a deep sigh said: 'I, … I have not the trinkets for my dear Sister … Mr. Bellamy …' she stopt.

Called to her sad self by this shock, of which she strove to repress the emotion, Camilla recollected her own 'almost blunted purpose⁶,' and fearfully asked if their Mother were yet at Belfont.

'Ah, no!' she answered, clasping her hands, and leaning her head upon her sister's neck: 'She is gone! – The day before yesterday she was with me, – with me only for one hour! – yet to pass with her such another, I think, my dear Camilla, would soon lead me where I might learn a better philosophy than that I so vainly thought I had already acquired here!'

Camilla, struck with awe, ventured not even at an enquiry; and they both, for some little time, walked on in silence.

'Did she name to you,' at length, in broken accents, she asked, 'did she name to you, my Eugenia, … the poor, banished … Camilla? – '

'Banished? No. How banished?'

'She did not mention me?'

'No. She came to me but upon one subject. She failed in her purpose, … and left me.'

A sigh that was nearly a groan finished this short little speech.

'Ah, Heaven! my Eugenia,' cried Camilla, now in agony unresisted, 'tell me, then, what passed! what new disappointment had my unhappy Mother to sustain? And how, and by what cruel fatality, has it fallen to your lot … even to yours … to suffer her wishes to fail?'

'You know nothing, then,' said Eugenia, after a pause, 'of her view – her errand hither?'

'Nothing; but that to see you brought her not only hither, but to England.'

'Blessed may she be!' cried Eugenia, fervently, 'and rewarded where rewards are just, and are permanent!'

Camilla zealously joined in the prayer, yet besought to know if she might not be informed of the view to which she alluded?

'We must go, then,' said Eugenia, 'into the house; my poor frame is yet feebler than my mind, and I cannot support it unaided while I make such a relation.'

Camilla, affrighted, now gave up her request; but the generous Eugenia would not leave her in suspense. They went, therefore, to a parlour, where, shutting the doors and windows, she said, 'I must be concise, for both our sakes; and when you understand me, we must talk instantly of other things.'

Camilla could give only a tacit promise; but her air shewed she would hold it sacred as any bond.

'The idea which brought over this inestimable Parent, and which brought her, at a moment when she knew me to be alone, to this sad house, these sad arms … Camilla! how shall I speak it? It was to exonerate me from my vows, as forced! to annul all my engagements, as compulsatory! and to restore me again … O, Camilla! Camilla! to my Parents, my Sisters, my Uncle, my dearly-loved Cleves!'

She gasped almost convulsively; yet though Camilla now even conjured her to say no more, went on: 'A proposal such as this, pressed upon me by one whose probity and honour hold all calamity at nought, if opposed to the most minute deviation from right – a proposal such as this … ah! let me not go back to the one terrible half instant of demur! It was heart-rending, it was killing! I thought myself again in the bosom of my loved family!' —

'And is it so utterly impossible? And can it not yet be effected?' —

'No, my dear Sister, no! The horrible scenes I must go through in a public trial for such a purpose – the solemn vows I must set aside, the re-iterated promises I must break, – no, my dear Sister, no!.. And now, we will speak of this no more.'

Camilla knew too well her firmness, her enthusiasm to perform whatever she conceived to be her duty, to enter into any contest. Yet to see her thus self devoted, where even her upright Mother, and pious Father, those patterns of resignation to every heaven-inflicted sorrow, thought her ties were repealed by the very villainy which had formed them, seemed more melancholy, and yet harder for submission, than her first seizure by the worthless Bellamy.

'And how bore my poor Mother … my poor unfortunate Mother! destined thus to woes of every sort, though from children who adore her! – how bore she the deprivation of a hope that had brought her so far?'

'Like herself! nobly! when once it was decided, and she saw that though, upon certain avowals, the law might revoke my plighted faith, it could not abrogate the scruples of my conscience. She thinks them overstrained, but she knows them to be sincere, and permitted them, therefore, to silence her. Unfit to be seen by any others, she hurried then away. And then, Camilla, began my trial! Indeed I thought, when she had left me, … when my arms no more embraced her honoured knees, and neither her blessings, nor her sorrows soothed or wounded my ears, I thought I might defy all evil to assault, all woe to afflict me ever again! that my eyes were exhausted of every tear, and my heart was emptied of all power of future feeling. I seemed suddenly quite hardened; – transformed I thought to stone, as senseless, as immovable, and as cold!'

The sensations of Camilla were all such as she durst not utter; but Eugenia, assuming some composure; added, 'Of this and of me now enough – speak, my dear Sister, of yourself. How have you been enabled to come hither? And what could you mean by saying you were banished?'

'Alas! my dearest Eugenia, if my unhappy situation is unknown to you, why should I agitate you with new pain? my Mother, I find, spared you; and not only you, but me – though I have wrung her heart, tortured it by a sight never to be obliterated from her memory – she would not rob me of my beloved sister's regard; nor even name me, lest the altered tone of her voice should make you say, Of what Camilla does my Mother speak?'

Eugenia, with earnest wonder, begged an explanation; but when Camilla found her wholly uninformed of the history of their Father's confinement, she recoiled from giving her such a shock: yet having gone too far entirely to recede, she rested the displeasure of their Mother upon the debts, and the dealings with a usurer; both sufficiently repugnant to the strictness and nobleness of Mrs. Tyrold, to seem ample justification of her displeasure.

Eugenia entered into the distresses of her sister, as if exempt herself from all suffering: and Camilla, thus commiserating and commiserated, knew now how to tear herself away; for though Eugenia pressed not her stay, she turned pale, when a door opened, a clock struck, or any thing seemed to prognosticate a separation; and looked as if to part with her were death.

At length, however, the lateness of the day forced more of resolution. But when Camilla then rang to give orders for the carriage, the footman said it had been gone more than two hours. The postillion, being left without any directions, thought it convenient to suppose he was done with; and knowing Camilla had no authority, and his lady no inclination to chide him, had given in her little packet, and driven off, without enquiry.

Far from repining at this mixture of impertinence and carelessness, Camilla would have rejoiced in an accident that seemed to invite her stay, had not her sister seemed more startled than pleased by it. She begged, therefore, that a post chaise might be ordered; and Molly Mill, the only servant to whom the mistress of the house appeared willing to speak, received the commission. At sight of Camilla, Molly had cried bitterly, and beginning 'O Miss! – ' seemed entering into some lamentation and detail; but Eugenia, checking her, half whispered: 'Good Molly, remember what you promised!'

When Molly came back, she said that there were no horses at Belfont, and would be none till the next morning.

The sisters involuntarily congratulated one another upon this accident, though they reciprocated a sigh, that to necessity alone they should owe their lengthened intercourse.

'But, my dear mistress,' cried Molly, 'there's a lad that I know very well, for I always see him when I go of an errand, that's going to Salisbury; and he says he must go through Etherington, and if you've any thing you want to send he'll take it for you; and he can bring any thing back, for he shall be here again to morrow, for he goes post.'

Eugenia, sending away Molly, said, 'Why should you not seize such an opportunity to address a few lines to our dear Mother? I may then have the satisfaction to see her answer: and if, … as I cannot doubt, she tells you to return home with Miss Margland; – for she will not, I am sure, let you travel about alone; – what a relief will it be to me to know the distresses of my beloved sister are terminated! I shall paint your meeting in my "mind's eye," see you again restored to the sunshine of her fondness, and while away my solitary languor with reveries far more soothing than any that I have yet experienced at Belfont.'

Camilla embraced her generous Sister; and always readiest for what was speediest, wrote these lines, directed

To Miss Tyrold

I cannot continue silent, yet to whom may I address myself? I dare not apply to my Father – I scarce dare even think of my Mother – Encompassed with all of guilt with which imprudence could ensnare me, my courage is gone with my happiness! which way may I then turn? In pity to a wretched sister, drop, O Lavinia, at the feet of her I durst not name, but whom I revere, if possible, even more than I have offended, this small and humble memorial of my unhappy existence – my penitence, my supplication, my indescribable, though merited anguish!

Camilla.

Could the two sisters, even in this melancholy state, have continued together, they felt that yet from tender sympathy, consolation might revisit their bosoms. The day closed in; but they could not bear to part; and though, from hour to hour, they pronounced an adieu, they still sat on, talked on, and found a balm in their restored intercourse, so healing and so sweet, that the sun, though they hailed not its beams, rose while they were yet repeating Good Night!

They then thought it too late to retire, mutually agreeing with how much greater facility they might recover their lost rest, than an opportunity such as this for undisturbed conversation.

Every minute of this endearing commerce made separation seem harder; and the answer for which they waited from Etherington, anxiously and fearfully as it was expected, so whiled away the minutes, that it was noon, and no chaise had been ordered, when they heard one driving up to the house.

Alarmed, they listened to know what it portended. 'Mr. Bellamy,' said Eugenia, in a low voice, 'scarce ever comes home at this hour.'

'Can it be my Mother herself?' cried Camilla.

In a few minutes, however, Eugenia looked pale, ''Tis his step!' she whispered; and presently Bellamy opened the door.

Obliged to acknowledge his entrance, Camilla arose; but her parched lips and clammy mouth made her feel as if his sight had given her a fever, and she attempted not to force any speech.

He did not seem surprized at seeing her, asked how she did, rather cavalierly than civilly: rang the bell, and gave various orders; addressed scarce a word to his wife, and walked whistling about the room.

A change so gross and quick from the obsequious Bellamy Camilla had hitherto seen, was beyond even her worst expectations, and she conceived as low an opinion of his understanding and his manners, as of his morals.

Eugenia kept her eyes rivetted to the ground; and though she tried, from time to time, to say something to them both, evidently required her utmost fortitude to remain in the room.

At length; 'Miss Camilla,' he said, 'I suppose you know Miss Margland is gone?'

'Gone? whither? – how gone?'

'Why home. That is to her home, as she thinks it, Cleves. She set off this morning with the light.'

Camilla, astonished, was now called forth from her taciturnity; 'What possibly,' she cried, 'can have induced this sudden journey? Has my uncle sent for her?'

'No; your uncle has nothing to do with it. She had a letter last night from Mrs. Macdersey, with one enclosed for Sir Hugh, to beg pardon and so forth; and this morning she set off to carry it.'

Camilla was confounded. Why Miss Margland had not, at least, called at Belfont to enquire if she would proceed with her, was beyond all her conjecture.

Soon after, Bellamy's servant came in with a letter for Camilla, which had arrived after she left town, and was given to him by Mrs. Berlinton's butler. She retired into the next room to read it, where, to her great consternation, she found it was from Jacob, and had been written the day of Mr. Tyrold's arrest, though, as it was sent by a private hand, it had only now arrived. 'Things going,' he said, 'so bad at Cleves, on account of so many misfortunes, his master was denying himself all his natural comforts, and in particular he had sent to un-order a new pipe of Madeira, saying he would go without; though, as Miss might remember, it was the very wine the doctors had ordered for his stomach. This all the servants had taken so to heart, that they had resolved to buy it among 'em, and get it privately laid in, and not let his honour know but what it was always the same, till he had drunk so much he could not help himself. For this, they were to join, according to their wages or savings; Now I' says Jacob, 'being, by his gud honnur's genrosty, the ritchist ammung us, fur my kalling, wants to do the most, after nixt to the buttlur and huskippir, so, der Miss, awl I've gut beng in the funs, witch I cant sil out withowt los, if you can lit me have the munny fur the hurs, without ullconvenince, til Miss Geny that was can pay it, I shul be mutch obbleggd, poor Miss Geny nut hawing of a fardin, witch wil be a gret fevur to, Madm,

Yur humbbel survent til deth

Jaccub Mord.'

So touching a mark of the fond gratitude of the Cleves' servants to their kind master, mingled tenderness, in defiance of all horrour, in the tears of Camilla; but her total inability to satisfy the just claims of Jacob, since now her resource even in Eugenia failed, with the grief of either defeating his worthy project, or making it lastingly hurtful to him, was amongst the severest strokes which had followed her ill advised schemes. To proclaim such an additional debt, was a shame from which she shrunk; yet to fly immediately to Cleves, and try to soothe her oppressed uncle, was an idea that still seemed gifted with some power to soothe herself. Whither indeed else could she now go? she had no longer either carriage or protectress in town; and what she gathered of the re-admission of Bellamy to Grosvenor-square, made the cautions and opinions of Edgar burst forcibly upon her mind, to impede, though most mournfully, all future return to Mrs. Berlinton.

A pliancy so weak, or so wilful, seemed to announce in that lady an almost determined incorrigibility in wrong, however it might be checked, in its progress, by a mingled love of right, and a fear of ill consequences.

'Ah Edgar!' she cried, 'had I trusted you as I ought, from the moment of your generous declaration – had my confidence been as firm in your kindness as in your honour, what misery had I been saved! – from this connexion – from my debts – from every wide-spreading mischief! – I could then have erred no more, for I should have thought but of your approvance!'

These regrets were, as usual, resuming their absorbing powers; – for all other evils seemed fluctuating, but here misery was stationary; when the voice of Bellamy, speaking harshly to his unhappy wife, and some words she unavoidably caught, by which she found he was requesting that she would demand money of Sir Hugh, made her conclude him not aware he was overheard, and force herself back to the parlour. But his inattention upon her return was so near rudeness, that she soon felt convinced Mrs. Berlinton had acquainted him with her remonstrances and ill opinion: he seemed in guilty fear of letting her converse even a moment with Eugenia; and presently, though with an air of pretended unconcern, said: 'You have no commands for the chaise I came in, Miss Camilla?'